


Devotee

by Madame de flammes (owlaholic68)



Category: Monster of the Week (Tabletop RPG), Original Work
Genre: Coming In Pants, Desk Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, If you are one of my players please don't read this, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, POV Third Person, Quickies, Service Top, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 08:00:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19884268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/Madame%20de%20flammes
Summary: People often ask James how Jacques really is. Adoring, he’d respond. Attentive, protective, caring, hopelessly devoted. And intense, he’d say if pressed, blushing. He can get incredibly intense sometimes.





	Devotee

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously - if you are one of my MOTW players and you somehow stumbled upon this, I will never be able to live it down if I know you ever read this.

James cracks open the door to Jacques’ office and pokes his head in. “Jacques, dear, are you ready to go-”

The words trail off as he takes in the unexpected scene of his lover (and his something more, after all these years, but there wasn’t a word that describes the full depth of their devotion). Jacques is sprawled in his plush office chair, one leg over the armrest and one hand between his legs, his palm digging into the crotch of his jeans.

“You were taking _forever,_ sweetheart,” he whines, accent thick, one eye fluttering open to gaze at James.

“I – okay, um-” James flounders at the sudden passion in Jacques’ gaze. He shuts the office door behind him and silently appreciates the fact that everybody else in the office has left for the night. “I’m sorry, you could have called for me to hurry up so we could go home.”

Jacques shakes his head and stares as James makes his way over to the desk. He surges forward out of the chair as James gets close, burying one hand in James’ hair and tugging him into a harsh kiss.

He goes zero-to-sixty sometimes – one moment calm, the next minute he acts desperate and like he hasn’t held James in decades – like now, rocking his hip against James and pressing him against the smooth wood of the desk, breaking from the kiss to lavish attention upon his neck, panting James’ name between every breath.

The abrupt intensity makes James’ head spin.

“I want to make you feel wonderful,” Jacques growls against his neck. “I was thinking about it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I can’t wait. I _won’t_ wait, please. You deserve _everything_ from me – let me – let me give you-”

There’s a suggestion and a promise wrapped up in the breathy plea of Jacques’ voice.

“O-Okay.” James braces his hands against the edge of the desk as Jacques takes his agreement with fervor, immediately dropping to his knees and nosing his way between James’ legs. It’s too much too fast, but everything about Jacques is too much too fast.

Even through the layers of his clothing, the stimulation dissipates James’ loud thoughts. All he can do is gasp and curl his hands, fingers digging into the desk. He has the presence of mind to realize that clothes should probably be a thing that should go away, so he pries one hand away to unbuckle his belt. Jacques seems in no mood to help with this effort – his arms are behind his back, hands locked to the opposite wrist like he’s forcing himself not to touch James.

He’s doing more than enough touching with his mouth alone. James has to gently pull him back by his hair so he can have enough room to slide his pants and underwear down to his knees. As soon as his grip loosens, Jacques shifts forward and goes back at it.

First a long lick that makes his knees weak, then Jacques takes him into his mouth and James sees stars behind his eyes. Self-control prevents him from rocking forward too forcefully, but it doesn’t even matter because Jacques doesn’t wait before so thoroughly encompassing him that James can feel the edge of his glasses pressing into his stomach.

He’s _very_ glad that there’s nobody else in the building.

A groan rips from his throat as Jacques pulls back and does it again, then once more. Jacques hums, eyes peeking up through the curly mass of his hair. His eyes are unfocused but satisfied at the way that James is reacting to his care – squirming and overwhelmed and _reacting._ When he pulls off to lap at other sensitive spots, he gets a good sight of James’ chest heaving with tiny gasps of his name.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” Jacques whispers. It sounds like the world’s worst kept secret to James, like he’s shouting it to the whole city instead of murmuring it into his skin. “Love you, love you.”

“Love you too,” James manages to reply.

“Come for me please.” Jacques bobs his head and hums again. “Please, please-”

“If you keep on the way you’re going, it – it won’t be long, don’t worry.”

Jacques apparently takes that as some kind of challenge, because he takes James down again all the way, then doesn’t wait before doing it again, then he’s building up a steady rhythm that feels like punishment both for Jacques’ throat and James’ control. It’s so intense so quickly. It’s been barely three minutes since James has walked in before he’s arching his back and crying out his lover’s name, hands now buried in Jacques’ soft hair as he comes with a painful burst of pleasure.

Too much too fast, but James loves it.

When he finally comes down back to Earth, back to this building, back to this small office, Jacques has pulled off of him but is still kneeling on the carpet with his hands behind his back. He’s rocking back and forth almost imperceptibly, biting his lip.

It takes a moment for James to recover his voice again. “Jacques, dear, you – you’re allowed to touch yourself. I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

Jacques shakes his head and shudders. Still on the floor, gazing up at him with dazed eyes. “Don’t want to,” he croaks. “Want you to.”

“Okay, well.” James pulls Jacques up and deposits him into his chair. He’s boneless and whimpers at the new position, moving his hands to the armrests and clutching them tight. “Like this?” He presses a hand to the front of Jacques’ pants, where a sizable bulge reminds James what he had originally interrupted a few minutes ago. And Jacques hasn’t touched himself since then?

He gets an answering whine in return. “Yes, please, sweetheart, can – can I come-”

“Yes, of course you can,” James readily answers. Then, without thinking: “I want you to.” He presses his hand again with the intention of, you know, actually taking Jacques’ pants off, but doesn’t even get the chance because Jacques does what he does whenever James says he wants something, which is that he immediately does it.

James meets Jacques’ glazed-over eyes, knowing his shock is evident on his own face. He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “I – I, Jacques dear-”

He gets pulled into a languid kiss, passionate but slower, less needy. “Let’s go home?” Jacques murmurs, almost falling asleep in the chair.

“Yes, let’s go home.” James easily scoops him up into his arms. _We will be having words about whatever this was,_ he thinks to himself but doesn’t say. Sometimes Jacques gets unexpectedly ardent, but he also usually likes to stay in control. The new submissiveness, the neediness, the violent impatience – that is new.

 _We will be talking about this,_ he promises himself, but he never makes good on that promise.


End file.
